


Firebird

by Jackie Thomas (Jackie_Thomas)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:50:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Thomas/pseuds/Jackie%20Thomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternative ending for Fall Girl</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firebird

Hearing the squeal of car tyres, Bodie ran across the smooth white curve of the gasholder to the railed gangway. From his vantage point, he could see the spy convention forming at the foot of the tower. Cowley was there with Willis, a pack of his MI6 men, and the two watchful East Germans; Kreiber and Schuman.

Cowley must have got Willis to call off the attack dogs snapping at his ankles. The old bastard was up to no good, but he was probably the only thing standing between Bodie and – what was it? – a grenade launcher.

Cowley shouted to him to come down, that he was cleared; his words just audible at this distance. Bodie gripped the rail, trying to discern the truth from his craggy features. 

He demanded to see Marikka. She had betrayed him, but instinctively he feared for her. Doyle, our very own Mr License to Thrill, brought her. 

Marikka screamed at Bodie that she too had been set up and used. He didn’t, couldn’t, believe her. He had been the old Bodie these last few days, the Bodie Marikka had known. The Bodie who fought other people’s wars and never took off his armour.

It had started before he saw her, playing the glamour girl outside the Gloucester Hotel. He had known she was coming, from an article in Doyle’s film magazine, and the past came rushing back. He had shut down; he knew he had, though it was scarcely within his control. He had gone quiet and let Doyle make all that noise to compensate.

But where did it leave him? Hanging about on a gasholder like a fairy on top of a poorly defended Christmas tree.

In the end, it was a habit of obeying Cowley’s orders, no matter how incomprehensible that got him moving. He took the narrow steps down, aware of all eyes focussed on him, conscious of the weight of motivations he had not yet got to grips with.

These days, he could hear and identify the release of a handgun safety from the next borough. He had reached ground level when he recognised the tell-tale click, and he wasn’t the only one. Doyle, in one fluid movement, spun round to Kreiber, pushed Marikka clear and drew his gun.

She ran, and Green, one of Willis’ men, dropped to the floor with a shout of outrage.

At first, Bodie could not see why Doyle had fired at Green when it was Kreiber who had pulled his gun. Then he realised, Doyle’s aim had gone wild because he himself had been shot; hit with the bullet meant for Marikka. He didn’t fall though, just gripped his shoulder, landing heavily on one knee.

Part of him, the recently surfaced old-Bodie, said he should leave Ray to it; he should put himself at risk for no one. But he was already running. He pulled Doyle down just as a bullet whistled over their heads. A chancy MI6 reprisal, he guessed. He scooped his partner up and went for cover with him.

The spies scattered, car wheels spun gravel into the air, warning shots bounced off metal, and when the action died down, Marikka was gone. Bodie cursed, he hadn’t seen who had taken her. 

A second or two later a CI5 car drew up, spinning to a halt next to Bodie. Vic flung open the door while Cowley, who had concealed himself in the skeletal iron and steel of the gas works, gave covering fire. Bodie dragged Doyle into the front passenger seat and jumped in the back. Vic had them out on to the road before he had even got the door shut. He stopped not long after when he was sure no one was following.

“I’m going back for the old man,” said Vic. “You take the car and fuck off out of it.”

Bodie took the wheel and headed south. He glanced at Doyle, slumped, passed out against the window, and pulled back his jacket. The bullet looked to have entered too high on his shoulder to have hit any organs, but there was so much blood it was hard to say.

“Ray, come on mate, wake up,” he tried. “Rise and shine, kettles on.” It didn’t work. Not that time, or any of the times he tried it during the endless journey to the hospital.

He hadn’t wanted to risk being tracked down by Six, so he was taking Ray to King’s College Hospital, deep in South London, rather than the nearest A&E. It was a longer journey than he remembered, and slow through crawling traffic. He only hoped it wasn’t too far for Ray.

Eventually Doyle woke up of his own accord. Contrary sod.

“Awake are we?” Bodie asked, nastier than intended. Doyle gasped as pain from his wound shot through. “Take it easy. We’re going to hospital.”

“What happened?”

Bodie sighed and explained what had gone down at the gasholder.

“We’ve got to go back for Marikka,” Doyle interrupted, when he heard she was no longer in CI5’s hands.

“Sorry mate, you can hand me over for framing, when we’ve got that bullet out. I was thinking of a nice mahogany. That’ll work for my coffin too.”

“You moron. Marikka didn’t betray you.”

“Bollocks she didn’t.”

“She was manipulated by Kreiber and Schuman. She was set up, the same as you.” 

He glared at Doyle. “Why should I believe you?”

“You think I’m in on it too? Fuck you, Bodie.”

There was more of Doyle’s blood on the upholstery than running through his veins and he was still ready to go guns blazing for Bodie’s ex.

So, no.

“If we don’t get her away, they’ll kill her and make her the scapegoat for Bierman’s murder. They’ve tried once already. Come on Bodie, wake up!”

“All right, all right. I’ll go back to the Gloucester, see if I can track her down.” 

Finally they reached Kings and Bodie parked at A&E. He ran round to the passenger side to haul Doyle out, keeping a wary eye for surveillance. A doctor, name-tagged Kaur was called as soon as staff caught sight of Ray.

“If anyone asks for him, he’s not here. Understand?” The doctor’s attention was focused on getting Doyle settled on a trolley, so he pulled Ray’s ID out of his jacket and waved it at her. “Seriously Doc, someone with a better aim might be looking for him.”

She stared at the CI5 insignia, her interest caught at last. “What about my other patients?”

“They won’t hurt anyone not involved, but just keep it quiet okay.”

She nodded. “All right.”

He pocketed the card and was about to leave when Doyle grabbed his arm and dragged him back. 

“It’s Suite Nine.”

“Okay.”

His grip tightened. “Trust Cowley,” he insisted. “He’s been fighting for you.”

“Okay, okay.”

Despite the Monday rush hour finishing and the traffic easing, it was after seven when Bodie finally reached Kensington. He opened the car windows during the drive, but the sharp, metallic smell of Doyle’s blood still choked the chill air.

The Gloucester looked peaceful; Bodie saw no sign of MI6, CI5, or Stasi. He kept his hand on his gun. He ought to have seen something.

The blood and dirt decorating his khaki jacket earned him curious glances, but he took the stairs to the ninth floor unhindered. No one guarded the suite either, and he knocked at the door. It was opened a fraction by a uniformed maid, and he pushed his way in.

“Nein!” She cried. “Komm nicht herein!” 

Marikka was not there; he found nothing but half-packed cases as he ran from room to room.

He went back for the maid, catching her up as she tried to escape along the corridor. She resisted, shouting at him in rapid, provincial German.

“Wo ist Marikka?” He asked, but she was too agitated to answer in anything but desperate pleas for her life. He took her by the wrist and guided her back to the suite, “Nur die Ruhe, nur die Ruhe.” Calm, calm. 

Bodie persuaded her into an armchair and, weeping, she told him Frau Schuman, for whom she worked, was dead. Herr Schuman had said the English had killed her. Why, she did not know.

“Sie sind gegangen.” They have all gone. Schuman, Kreiber and the rest of the entourage; they were taking the first flight back to Berlin, leaving her to pack up and follow on. The cultural exchange was over, then? Shame.

Bodie used the hotel room phone to call Cowley.

“Is 4.5 all right?” He demanded.

“I don’t know, sir. He lost a lot of blood, but he was awake when we got to the hospital.”

“Where is he?”

“Kings. Can you send someone?”

“You’re not there with him?”

“No, I’m looking for Marikka. I mean I was. I’m sorry, sir, what happened to her? The maid told me she was dead.”

There was a pause, a slight adjustment of the receiver at the other end of the line. “6.2 was trying to get her from Willis, to take her into our protection. One of the East Germans shot her.”

“Right, I see.” But he hadn’t seen any of that and he had been right there.

He dismissed the thought; it must have happened after he and Doyle had gone. Trust Cowley. Trust Cowley.

He looked at Marikka’s white fur coat, lying across the leather couch, a sleeping animal.

“She wasn’t working for them, then?”

“No Bodie, she wasn’t.”

“Is she taking the blame for Bierman’s death?”

“I don’t think so. Schuman is next in line for Bierman’s position in Berlin, and she was Schuman’s wife. The connection would be made immediately, and his position would become untenable.”

“Why does MI6 care about that?”

“Schuman is Willis’ asset, Bodie.”

“Our man in East Berlin?” So that’s what this was all about.

“It’s a coup I have to admit. Unfortunately handled with Reg Willis’ customary brutality. No Bodie, the assassin has to be you. You have no connection to Schuman except through his wife, and you have a motive because of your friendship with her.”

“Look, this is what I don’t understand, what motive?”

“A trial is not possible now,” Cowley continued, ignoring the question. “Doyle destroyed the evidence against you. But anything can be said of a dead man. Without the woman, I have nothing to bargain with, and you are in grave danger. You have to disappear for a while.”

“Terrific. Any chance of a safe house?”

“No,” Cowley said. “MI6 are apparently aware of the location of all our safe houses. Go to the place you told me about, they wouldn’t know about that.”

“For how long? For the rest of the day, the rest of my life?”

“We’ll see.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure I’ll manage.” 

“See that you do,” Cowley replied, hanging up.

While the maid shuffled from room to room, crying and packing, Bodie called the hospital. He was told Doyle was in surgery. Cowley would send a guard; Vic probably, he made as good a watchdog as any. Bodie would climb into a top hat and make himself disappear.

~~~

Bodie and Doyle each had keys to a flat the CI5 accommodation office knew nothing about.

It was a quietly anonymous place. A single grimy window above a dry cleaners was all that was visible from the outside. The shop, one of a small row on a South London street, left no impression. 

They kept it for the times when it was difficult to tell who else could be trusted. There had been enough of those over the years to justify the few quid a week it cost in rent.

The landlord also owned the dry cleaners. He was sure his two occasional tenants came here for sex, so he asked no questions; even when he realised he did not know their names.

They also rented a space in a garage close by and Bodie parked the CI5 car there. The space was usually occupied by a three year old Ford; another joint purchase. Bodie had retrieved it from here earlier in the day, and if by lucky chance Cowley or Willis hadn’t noticed it, it would still be in North London. It would have to stay there until he could go and get it. Annoying, because he could have done with the weapons and spare ammo stored in the boot.

Also, Doyle was going to kill him for losing the F1. He’d left it at the gas holder, ditching it in favour of his partner’s hand gun when things kicked off. Fuck knew where that was now.

He bought a takeaway and went upstairs to the flat. It was one small room with peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet. There was a bed, a two ring hot plate, some junk shop furniture and a set of sun-faded pictures of the Greek islands. The warped window frames were no match for the chill autumn breeze and a bathroom behind a curtain, housed plumbing that would have made the bomb squad jumpy.

But it had been subjected to a meticulous security upgrade since the current tenants took possession and, if nothing else, the flat was safe.

Bodie stood by the window, looking out at the darkened street. He swallowed chips and tried, in this first quiet moment, to understand what had happened since he had found Marikka again, not two days ago. How they had walked, hand in hand, into a trap.

He had been the intended sacrifice in MI6’s plan to get Max Schuman highly placed in the East German secret service, and Marikka, he now believed, had been an innocent party. Not a role the great actress would have been familiar with. 

Now she was dead, and he was sorry for that.

He had survived, which was an inconvenience to Willis’ mob, and he would continue to be a target while Schuman’s position in Stasi was secured. He drew the curtain across. If he was careful, this would be a safe enough place to wait until the drama played out. Until he had to decide whether his disappearing needed to be permanent.

He opened one of the tins of beer they kept stacked in the kitchen cupboard and tried to settle. If his stay was to be a long one, he needed to stand down from this state of high alert; he needed to calm the caged animal pacing in his mind.

But he could not rest, something wouldn’t let him. Despite Marikka’s death and Cowley ordering him to lie low, every instinct was telling him he still had work to do, that something needed his attention. His hand closed around Doyle’s CI5 ID in his pocket.

People working closely together often acquired a kind of telepathy. Bodie had found this unremarked magic in all his diverse occupations.

Two chefs sharing a kitchen would soon develop it, and it was essential to making a CI5 partnership work. It was the voice telling you to zag when your partner zigged. It was the third eye that let you see what the other half of the team was up to when the bullets started flying.

Bodie had long been accustomed to this mysterious link with Doyle having an infinite range. It sometimes even seemed strongest when they were apart. It wasn’t just about danger; it was more an awareness of the other, an ache, hardly discernible most of the time, but constant. 

He had felt this ache, hard and sharp, all weekend. It was why he had not been surprised to see Doyle when he looked out of the hotel room window. A part of him had known he was there all along.

The ache had not dulled and was tugging at the edge of his consciousness now. It was calling him urgently back to Doyle. He wanted to ignore it. Now, above all times, he needed to look after himself, needed to let the doctors and CI5 make sure his partner was okay. And really there was no reason why he shouldn’t be. He decided he definitely wasn’t going to check on Doyle.

It was a quick drive from Kennington back to Kings College Hospital, but by the time he got there, Doyle was gone. He was gone and there was no sign of the CI5 presence Bodie had requested. A nurse was clearing up Doyle’s bed in the surgical ward.

“The police already came in to see him,” the nurse said, glancing at his ID.

“Were they in uniform?”

“Yes. We had to report it because it was a bullet wound. Casualty should have done it really.”

“Did he leave with the police?”

“No, he just disappeared, but it was after they’d gone.”

“How was he? Had they taken the bullet out?”

“Yes. The surgery went well. He’d just woken up from the anaesthetic. But he was in no condition to get up and go.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Half an hour ago, maybe less. The porters are still looking for him.”

Once a bullet wound was reported to the police, it was only a matter of time before the other agencies heard about it, especially if they were listening. MI6 could easily have Doyle now. 

“The police were from the local station,” the nurse said, seeing his concern. “They wouldn’t have done anything to him.”

He started moving. “Course they wouldn’t! Thanks.”

If Doyle was alert enough, he would have taken the appearance of uniformed plod as a signal to get himself out.

If that were the case, he would be heading to their safe house above the Kennington dry cleaners. He left the hospital and drove back the way he had come, scanning the cars he passed and the pavements on either side of the road.

It was after eleven and the pubs were tipping out, so he was lucky to spot Doyle, in his blood-stained bomber jacket, propped up against the Perspex wall of a bus shelter on Denmark Hill. He had covered a fair distance from the hospital on foot, but now seemed barely conscious.

Bodie drew up at the kerb and got out of the car. “Going my way, sailor?” He said softly, and Doyle opened unfocussed eyes.

“Hullo,” he said, letting Bodie help him into the car.

Bodie parked close to the dry cleaners. He supported Doyle the short distance across the pavement and up the stairs to the flat, relieved to have the solid weight of his partner at last in his charge. 

He left him to settle in one of the armchairs while he pushed coins into the metre, lit the boiler, and switched on the gas fire. The heating exploded into life with a scent of scorched dust but with little impact on the temperature of the room.

He looked in the chest of drawers. Doyle normally slept wearing any old rag of a t-shirt, so Bodie took out a pair of his own pyjamas.

“Ray.”

Doyle didn’t open his eyes. “Not today, thanks.”

“Come on, I want to have a look at that wound.”

“Keep your filthy hands off it.”

But he let Bodie help him sit up and peel off his jacket and denim shirt.

The dressings put on in hospital were in tact and the bandages unstained. Bodie had feared the extra activity would start the bleeding off again.

“All right Ray, stick with me for a mo.”

Doyle nodded against Bodie’s shoulder while he put the pyjama top on him, buttoning it for him.

“Are these my granddad’s?”

“Blood loss hasn’t affected your razor sharp wit, I see.”

He manoeuvred Doyle out of his shoes and jeans and into the pyjama bottoms. Then he made up the bed with all the blankets they had, and helped him in.

“Marikka?” Doyle asked.

“She’s dead.”

Doyle hissed his displeasure. “What happened?”

“Talk later, okay. Get some sleep.” 

Doyle soon closed his eyes, his breathing changing as he drifted off. He seemed all right, but you didn’t fuck about with gunshot wounds the way they had with this one. Bodie wished he knew what damage the bullet had done. Doyle had not been long in surgery, which was a good sign, but you could never tell with a shoulder wound; it was a complicated place to take a bullet. Whatever, he should be resting in a hospital not out dodging MI6 hit squads.

Bodie went out to move the car back into the garage and to radio Alpha One.

“Is he there?”

“Negative 3.7,” Julie responded. “He’s out for the night.”

“Can you patch me through?”

“Negative. He left instructions not to be disturbed.”

“He what - ?” Cowley seemed to be going out of his way to annoy him, but that wasn’t unusual. “Well look, can you tell him there was a cock-up with security at the hospital but I’ve got 4.5 with me.”

“Oh, goodness. How is he?”

“I don’t know, okay I think.”

A metallic clatter intruded on the low crackle of the transmission. “What was that?” He asked. “Did someone drop Alpha One’s wallet?”

She diverted him briskly. “Anything further, 3.7?” 

“Uh, no. I’ll call in tomorrow. Out.”

There was nothing more he could do, so he went back to the flat and locked up. He half-undressed down to t-shirt and boxers and got into the narrow double bed, where Doyle still slept a heavy, medicated sleep.

They woke at the same time the next morning when one of the machines in the dry cleaner’s shop below shuddered into a noisy spin. Bodie found he had rolled on to his stomach in his sleep, winding an arm around Doyle. It wasn’t the first time that had happened and Doyle didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m not one of your flaming air hostesses,” he said, but his hand moved to cover Bodie’s.

“Look,” Doyle said. “What I did. Following you and whatever. It was just the job, I never believed you’d turned. It was better me than someone else. That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway.”

“Forget it,” Bodie found himself saying. “I would have done the same.” It had taken him a day and a night’s sleep to realise this.

He switched on the bedside light and propped himself up on an elbow to see how Doyle was doing. Not too good by the look of him. Overnight his skin had taken on a feverish sheen. Bodie put his hand to his forehead and found it warm. Doyle opened his eyes at the touch, answering his smile.

“Let’s have a look, then.” He pulled back Doyle’s pyjama top. The bandage was still clean but he flinched at the slight movement.

Bodie got up to get dressed and make cups of black instant coffee. Doyle made his way unsteadily to the bathroom, and then back to bed. 

“I’m heading off to the Infirmary to get your prescription,” said Bodie, leaving the coffee to cool on the bedside table.

“It’s not safe, they’ll be watching CI5 locations.”

“If that’s the case, they’ll be spread pretty thin, they won’t be able to cover it properly.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll take the tradesmen’s entrance.”

“I’ve heard that about you.”

Downstairs, he waved good morning to Pavlou, their landlord, who returned a knowing wink from behind his counter.

The street was busy; the morning rush hour was still underway, and a steady stream of people flowed to the underground. But Bodie was instinctively alerted to a different kind of movement. He reached back and grabbed Reg Willis by the wrist, pushing him against the glass shop front and taking his gun.

“If I killed Herr Bierman, why wouldn’t I kill you?”

“I came here to talk to you,” Willis croaked out.

“What about? Are you going to ask me to come quietly? Because after last time, I’ve got to say -”

“We have Marikka Schuman.”

Bodie momentarily dropped his guard and, within seconds, he had been overpowered. Willis cuffed his hands behind his back.

“Marikka’s dead,” said Bodie. “The East Germans killed her.”

“Someone has misled you for their own purpose.”

“I’m likely to believe you. Soul of bloody honour, you are.” 

“You can speak to her.” Willis was a weasel but he seemed to mean it.

His car was parked in a nearby side road and he led Bodie to it, pushing him in to the passenger seat. Reaching past him, he picked up the phone and dialled.

“Put the girl on,” he barked when the call connected. He held the receiver to Bodie’s ear.

“Bodie, is that you?”

“Marikka?”

“Yes, it’s me.” It was, without question, her voice.

“Are you all right? Where are you?”

“I’m well. They have me in a house. I do not know where.”

Willis snatched away the phone, hanging up before he could reply.

“What are you going to do with her?” Bodie asked, though he was sure he understood now.

“I’ll let her go.”

“If –?“

“I’ll let her go, on condition you give yourself up to the police. You’ll admit responsibility for Bierman’s murder, acting on George Cowley’s direct order.”

“Wait a minute, what’s it got to do with Cowley?”

“It won’t come to trial, we no longer hold the evidence against you, but it will be enough to take the suspicion away from certain other parties. In return the girl will be granted political asylum in the UK.”

“And if I don’t cooperate?”

“I’ll give her back to her husband, who I imagine won’t miss next time.”

“Oi, Willis,” said Doyle, a voice out of nowhere. “I won’t miss either.” He had come up from behind; barefoot in blue pyjamas, wielding a Browning. 

Willis shrugged and gave up his gun. Doyle searched his pockets, relieving him of Bodie’s weapon and the key to the cuffs. Doyle looked amused as Bodie shuffled out of the car.

“All right?”

“Yep.”

“What do we do with him?”

Willis locked up in the boot of his car would have given Bodie a strong chip to bargain with, not to mention a warm glow. But with Doyle winged, and Cowley gone flipping mental, he could do without the whole of MI6 on red alert and after his blood.

“Let him go.”

Willis went round to the driver’s side, letting himself in and starting the engine. 

“You’ve got until the end of the day to give yourself up, Bodie,” he said as he drove away.

Doyle waited until Willis’ car turned into the main road before lowering his gun.

“You can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you,” he said as he unlocked Bodie’s cuffs.

“Yeah well, I’d like to know how it keeps finding me.” Bodie took off his jacket and wrapped it round Doyle’s shoulders. “What are you doing out, anyway? Were you sleepwalking?”

“Pavlou called me down. What was that about?”

“Let’s go inside first. Easy does it.” 

Bodie helped Doyle back upstairs, fending off Pavlou’s questions. Doyle sat on the bed, putting his head in his hands until his world settled back into place.

“Sorry mate,” Bodie said, sitting next to him. “We have to get out of here.”

“I know. We must have been followed out of the hospital yesterday.”

“No chance,” said Bodie. “There was nothing on the road, there was no way I missed a tail.”

“How else did Willis find us?”

“Think about it, Ray; who else knows about this place?”

“No one except Cowley.” Doyle turned. “You think Cowley tipped Six off? You’re off your rocker. He nearly shot Willis himself a couple of times this weekend, and I’m not exaggerating.”

Bodie shrugged, as unwilling to face the implications as Doyle. “Why would he tell me Marikka was dead when she’s not? I’ve just spoken to her. Willis has her.”

Doyle stared at him. “So what’s the score?”

“I sign a confession and they let her go with asylum. I don’t and they hand her back to Schuman.”

Doyle absorbed this. “Sod that, we’ve got to talk to the old man.”

“Yeah, I know. But can we get you back to a hospital first? Your skin colour’s making me sea sick.”

Bodie sorted out a clean shirt and jeans for Doyle to change into. As he helped him dress, he saw blood blotting the bandages at the site of the wound.

~~~

CI5 Infirmary’s current location was a quick drive away on the south side of Chelsea Bridge. Bodie drove while Doyle sat in the back seat of the car, his eyes closed, his breathing hard.

He wondered if Doyle was right, that this was too risky. But if he could get him in to CI5’s own clinic, it had to be more secure than an NHS hospital. Though he was starting to wonder.

“By the way,” Doyle said. “Where’s our car?”

“Oh, you’re awake are you?”

“You had the Cortina out, didn’t you? What happened to it?”

“I didn’t want you bleeding all over it.”

“You lost it. What about the F1, you were waving that about yesterday?”

“Stop nagging, I’ll get you another.”

Bodie tried the RT, but all he got was hiss. The radios did go down sometimes, but it didn’t help his creeping sense of unease.

Their cautious circling of the building turned out to be unnecessary; there was no one watching. Probably because, as they discovered, the Infirmary was closed. That would be a first. It was only a small place, but it was in constant use and open twenty four hours. He banged on the door but there was no answer.

Doyle, sick of waiting, got himself out of the car and came over. “Looks like Cowley cured them all. He must have laid hands on them.”

“I’ll lay hands on him,” Bodie muttered. “Something’s bloody well not right.” 

Doyle joined him in staring at the darkened building, contemplating the mystery of it.

“Oh well,” Bodie said, eventually. “It’s back to Kings with the riff raff, I suppose.”

They found Dr Kaur on duty in the busy A&E department. She made a swift, disapproving assessment of Doyle’s condition and led him into a treatment bay, Bodie trailing after.

“You’ve an infection, Mr Doyle” she said after she had examined him. “We’ll start you on IV fluids and antibiotics and then take a look at the wound. I’ll get a nurse to set up the drip.”

“Go on,” Doyle said to Bodie, when she had gone. “Call him now.”

Bodie found a pay phone and dialled Cowley’s personal office line. He heard the long ring for divert before the call connected and Julie answered. He pushed coins into the slot.

“Julie love, it’s me. Is he there?”

“I’m sorry Bodie, you can’t speak to him.”

“If he’s in a meeting can you get him out? Or I’ll give you this number. It’s urgent.”

She hesitated. “It’s not that.” 

“Tell me what’s going on. Is he hurt or something?”

“He says he won’t take a call from you or Doyle under any circumstances.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Bodie was momentarily lost for words, and then anger took over.

“Well then, perhaps you could give him a message. Perhaps you could thank him for giving us up to MI6.”

“Are you in trouble?” Julie’s voice lowered to almost a whisper. “Hold on, I’ll patch you through to Vic.”

“No, I’ve got to go.”

“Wait, Bodie, don’t go to HQ –“

He slammed down the phone before she could finish. Then he slammed it down again. What was the old fucker playing at?

He went back to Doyle’s bay where a nurse was setting up his IV. Bodie was silent while she worked, but Doyle soon opened his eyes, alerted by his stillness.

“What happened?” he asked, when they were briefly alone.

“He won’t speak to me,” 

“You what?”

“Or you.”

“Who told you that?”

“Julie.”

“Did she say why?”

“Ah come on, she didn’t know. Like he’d brief his agents.”

“He actually wouldn’t speak to you. Bloody hell, he -.”

He broke off as Dr Kaur came back into the bay.

“I don’t know if this is anything,” she said as she checked the progress of Doyle’s drip. “But there’s been a man hanging around in reception since early this morning. He said he was waiting for someone, but as soon as you came in, he left.”

“Ey up,” Doyle said. “Sounds like one of the boys.”

“He probably went to call it in.” Bodie’s hand went to the gun holstered under his jacket. He moved to the bay’s entrance where he could watch the public areas of the department. “Can you take that needle out, Doctor?”

“You’re leaving?” She asked incredulously. 

“One way or another. We’d rather it was without a shoot out in A&E first.”

“Can’t you call your organisation for help?”

She caught the look Bodie and Doyle exchanged. 

“I see.” After a moment’s reflection she began to undo the work the nurse had done. “I’m not happy with your condition, Mr Doyle.”

“I know how you feel.”

“You must return to have your wound checked.” She helped him back into his shirt. “You’ve had both bone and tissue damage and now an infection. You must understand, you have a lot of healing to do before you can think of yourself as out of danger.”

“Thanks Doc, I’ll be careful.”

“See that you are.” She took a prescription pad from her pocket and scribbled rapid hieroglyphics across it. “Antibiotics and painkillers,” she said. “You won’t fully recover from the anaesthetic for a day or so, so don’t drive, operate heavy machinery or do whatever it is you’re about to rush off and do.” 

Doyle zipped his jacket, concealing the blood soaked shirt beneath. He stuffed the prescription into his pocket and joined Bodie in scanning the reception area for likely lads among the staff and patients there.

Bodie handed Doyle the gun he had been keeping for him, and they made their way through the department, into the car park. There was nothing suspicious and their way was clear.

“We should go back to HQ,” said Bodie once they were sure they were not being followed. “Even if we’re not wanted.”

Doyle nodded grimly. “There’s nowhere else, mate.”

CI5’s current base was a a modest Victorian building in North London. A disused primary school, its classrooms were used for briefing rooms and the school hall for physical training. A sign reading, ‘headmaster’ was glued fast to Cowley’s office door.

They drove in through the open gates expecting the usual punch up for a parking space, and found the forecourt empty. Completely free of cars, it had reverted back to its natural state as a kid’s playground, marked out for football and netball.

“Now what?” Bodie exclaimed, stopping the car and getting out.

He tried the main front doors. They were locked, and there was no sign of Eric, the usual daytime security guard. He knocked hard several times and got no reply.

Doyle peered into ground floor windows, tried the side doors and wandered round to the garage and equipment store at the back. But Bodie knew there was no point; dark and silent, the place gave off the hollow vibration of an abandoned building.

“Sod all,” Doyle confirmed succinctly. He sat, wearily on the step. “I’m beginning to take it personally.”

“They must have turned this around overnight,” said Bodie.

Like a mobile army unit, CI5 never considered the space on which it stood as permanent. It changed its address a couple of times a year for both security and more mundane reasons. There was a well-rehearsed routine, and the organisation could, with a little preparation, relocate in half a day, computer banks and telephone numbers included.

There was a move due, but not for another month. The premises had been found, but the address had not been released. Julie had tried to warn him this morning. He should have listened, because it could be anywhere.

“Bodie,” Doyle said. “What’s going on?”

His eyes were fever-bright, his skin ashen, and he didn’t seem able to move his wounded arm at all now. He was a lot worse off than he was making out and this tour of recently deserted CI5 buildings wasn’t helping.

“Cowley’s shutting us out. He’s shutting me out.”

“It’s a bit extreme, isn’t it? Hiding the whole organisation from us. I keep thinking they’re all going to leap out and shout ‘surprise’.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath for that, Ray.”

He sat on the step with Doyle, watching the breeze whisk litter and leaves around the empty concrete of the old playground. In the silence, an explanation came.

“He must think I’m working for the East Germans. He must have suspected me this whole time.”

“No way. He raised hell to clear you yesterday.”

“You’re telling me that, so I believe it and maybe he believes I didn’t murder Bierman. But he doesn’t know for sure about my connection with Marikka. She’s married to a Stasi officer, double or no, and I met her secretly. I could have told her anything. Now he can never trust me.” 

Doyle’s expression was hard and thoughtful. He could find no better explanation. They both knew of other agents who had doubts thrown on their loyalty and received this exact same treatment. They had been left out in the cold without a chance to clear their name.

“You know what,” Doyle began. “One things been bothering me about all this.”

“Go on.”

“Why you? I mean, you were getting your end away with someone else’s wife. Nothing unusual there. But why you?”

“What do you mean?”

“MI6 could have framed anyone for Bierman’s murder.”

“Convenience. I could be manipulated through Marikka.”

“Maybe so, and, at a stretch, that gives you a motive against her husband. But why should you kill Bierman? Picking on you was guaranteed to drag CI5 in and light a firework under George Cowley. I can think of a dozen simpler ways to do the job.”

“You’re saying MI6 had another reason for choosing a CI5 man?”

“Yeah,” he said. “And I’d like to know what it is. Let’s go and get Marikka, then we can figure it out, eh?”

Without Doyle he would be gone now, he would be lost, floating outside the atmosphere, in an airless void. He had tied himself down with all of his partner’s reassurances, and the ties had severed one by one. The last rope was Doyle. It was always like this. Doyle kept him earthbound. 

“We should split up,” said Bodie.

“No.”

“You can make contact with Cowley through one of the lads. I can drop you at Jax’s place, it’s not far from here. Cowley’ll talk to you; he’ll only shut you out if you stick with me.”

“No.”

“Come on, you’re no use with that shoulder, anyway.”

“I said no, Bodie.”

He nodded; it was not worth arguing when Doyle got that look in his eye. 

“All right,” he said standing and offering a hand to him to help him up. “Let’s get out of here.”

He said he had to fill up the car, and soon drew up at a petrol station at the end of a small row of shops close to Jax’s place. He pointed out a chemist a few doors down.

“Do you want me to get your prescription?”

“I can do it,” Doyle said, as Bodie knew he would. 

He waited until Doyle was inside before starting the car and driving off.

Bodie had met secretly with a woman suspected of being an East German agent. He now had to accept the consequences of this unwitting act of betrayal.

Doyle had not been involved, and Cowley had no reason to mistrust him. There should be nothing to stop him going back to the squad. Bodie was aware, and Doyle would be too, that this door inched closed with every minute they spent together.

The best Bodie could do for him now was to absolve him from the responsibilities of their partnership and let him return untainted by suspicions of disloyalty.

Leaving him standing on a North London pavement was a brutal, but necessary, way of managing this.

He drove, without destination at first, in the blood-stained car belonging to an organisation he would teach himself to feel no connection to.

He would move on. Just as he always used to, when the time was right. Nothing in his life had changed, though he had for a long time held the mistaken belief it had. The myth he had created for himself gave him people; not a family, but a mob he could be genuinely loyal to. He knew now it was nothing more than a delusion, dependant on George Cowley’s whim for its substance. When the Major chose to slam down the shutters, Bodie lost all.

But Bodie was a survivor. He was young, fit and not too fussy and there were plenty of places he could go, and a million ways of making money.

It didn’t matter that Doyle, who loved him in possibly every kind of way, would try to find him. Doyle was part of Cowley’s world and that world was floating so far from him now, their orbits would not cross for centuries.

He drove these thoughts from his mind as easily as the old Bodie would have. He had one last job to do before he left. A job crossing old and new lives in inexplicable ways. He had to find and free Marikka Schuman. He turned the car round and headed for the West End.

He parked on Portland Place and made a call from a phone box there. He walked the short distance to Regents Park, stopping to buy two teas in polystyrene cups from a van at the gate. He took them to a bench by the lake and waited for his contact.

A woman joined him after twenty minutes. She was tall, slim and dressed sensibly for a day at the office. She had short dark hair and her brown eyes sparked with irritation.

“You’re a nuisance, Bodie,” she said, sitting next to him on the bench.

“Betty.” Bodie handed her the second cup of tea.

Betty had spent three years as George Cowley’s right hand woman. Inevitably eclipsed by her boss and labelled with the careless job title of ‘secretary’, it took a while for her unusual skill at research and her Intelligence expertise to be noticed. By then, she had been head-hunted by MI6 and shocked everyone by accepting the job.

She, Bodie and Doyle would help each other when conventional information exchange channels failed or were simply too slow. It was risky. The undisguised animosity between Alpha One and Firebird made the two organisations effectively enemies.

“I can’t just drop everything and run when you call,” she said. “We’re quite busy at the moment.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“What is it you want?” She took the lid from her tea and sipped.

“Where have MI6 got Marikka Schuman? Can you find out?”

“I know where she is,” Betty said.

“Go on.” 

“Look, Bodie. I shouldn’t have this information. I have nothing to do with safe houses and prisoners, it’s not my department. My suspicion is, I know the address because someone thought I might tell you.”

“That works for me.”

“I’m glad, because that’s what I live for.”

“Come on Bet, I wouldn’t ask if I had a choice.” She hesitated before giving him the address; a house in the suburbs north of the city. “Are you sure it’s the place?”

“As I can be, but please be careful. They’ll be waiting for you.”

“They always are.”

“What’s wrong, Bodie?” She asked, finally. “You’re not your usual annoying self. Where’s your better half? He’s a hero among the troops in my office for shooting Green.”

Bodie shrugged.

“Oh god, he was shot too, wasn’t he? Is he –?“

“He’s all right.” 

She tipped the remains of her tea on to the grass. “Try not to create any corpses today; we are on the same side, after all.”

“Are you sure about that? Is your mob out looking for me? What about Ray?”

“I don’t know. My job’s Intelligence not playground games.”

He gave Betty time to leave the park before returning to his car and heading back north. The place MI6 were holding Marikka was an unremarkable Victorian property in a residential street. Anonymous and defendable, it was the sort of place CI5 would have chosen.

He had no doubt Betty was right; MI6 would be expecting him. But he didn’t care, he had been passive for too long, letting others control the narrative of the story. One way or another he was going to get in on the action.

He used his CI5 ID to gain entry to a house two doors down. From there, he climbed into the safe house’s garden. He crouched in a corner by the fence. As he would have expected, all the windows were closed and the curtains drawn. The garden itself was neatly kept to offer scant cover for an intruder.

This was going to be tricky. There was no ground floor window, no lean-to, nothing useful in fact. The only way in was by the kitchen door. He could force it, but once in, he would not know where to start looking, and the longer he searched the more likely he was to be discovered.

He had decided to risk it anyway when Marikka appeared at the window of one of the second floor rooms. She pushed back the curtains to look out at the garden. He stood up, letting her see him and she opened her window.

“Are you alone?” He hissed up at her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’m coming up.”

“It is the first room on the right at the top of the stairs.”

The kitchen door was half-glazed, and he could see the room was empty, as was the hallway beyond. He tried the handle and found the door unlocked. He knew that couldn’t be right, but there was no turning back.

His way was clear as he left the kitchen and ran up the stairs. He found the door to the room Marikka had directed him to and kicked it open. Marikka was standing beside the window, still and calm.

He suddenly remembered her as he had first known her; a singer in a West German nightclub sending snippets of overheard conversations home in return for freedom to travel. She was not alone in the room. 

Willis sat in an armchair. One of his men, the rat-faced blond Bodie knew as Ronson, lounged on the bed. Another agent holding a handgun took his gun from him.

Marikka would not meet his gaze, and he knew immediately she too had betrayed him. Not to the East Germans but to MI6.

“Did they promise you asylum, sweetheart? Don’t hold your breath.”

Bodie was handcuffed and taken out of the room. A van was waiting on the driveway and he was pushed into the back of it. 

After a few minutes, two of the MI6 men brought Marikka and the three of them got in.

“I’m sorry, Bodie,” she said when they were on their way.

“I’m sure you are.”

“My brother, Karl is in prison in East Berlin. He has been charged with treason. I have been promised his release.”

Bodie nodded. He knew, and maybe she did too, that it was unlikely any promise made would be kept. Still she’d had to try.

The journey was a short one and, when the van stopped, they were let out into the car park of a shabby, three storey office block. Judging by the darkened windows and the small number of cars dotted around, the building was all but deserted.

Two agents escorted Marikka into a waiting car. Bodie watched as it turned out of the car park and disappeared from sight.

He was taken inside to a room on the ground floor. One agent stayed with him as he sat, still cuffed, at a table. When Willis arrived he sent the guard to wait outside.

“What are you doing with Marikka?” Bodie asked. 

“Sending her home.”

“Serves the bitch right.” 

East Germany was a death sentence for Marikka. If her husband didn’t kill her himself, she had undoubtedly lost his protection, and someone else would. Bodie was careful not to betray his anger. If Willis thought he could continue to use Marikka as leverage against him, she would be in more immediate danger.

Willis took the chair opposite Bodie. The table between them was stained with fingerprints. Bloody ones, by the look of them. Willis was silent at first, letting him absorb the implications. It took more than a dirty desk to rattle Bodie, but for the first time in a couple of hours, he wondered where Doyle was.

“What’s your decision?” Willis asked.

“Am I under arrest? I want to make a phone call.”

“You’ve nothing to lose by signing a confession, Bodie. It won’t come to trial, I guarantee it.”

“And I want a solicitor.”

“You’re finished as far as CI5 is concerned. George Cowley suspects you of spying, he told me as much. He had you followed by your own partner. Do you really think you’ve any future as an operative?”

Bodie knew Willis would say anything to get the answer he wanted, but only a couple of hours ago, with Doyle’s steady presence beside him, he had come to the same conclusion.

“What are you offering?”

“What do you want?” Willis asked. “Money, a new identity?”

It would suit his purpose and it was a tempting prospect. To shed his skin, to start afresh with a little spook money in his pocket and a brand new name. What harm would it do? Bierman was already dead, Marikka as good as. He played with the idea, tested himself with it.

“Come on then, Reg. Make an offer.”

“A new passport, and five thousand in cash.”

“Five grand! You’re having a laugh, aren’t you? You’re not telling me that’s the going rate for securing the position of a major Stasi asset.”

Bodie saw surprise flash across Willis’ impassive features and he suddenly knew why.

Bodie knew the secret behind Bierman’s assassination and he wasn’t supposed to. It was a secret Willis’ band of henchmen, who were executing the plan, probably hadn’t even been told.

It seemed a lifetime ago now, but he had heard it from Cowley. A man who only ever disclosed what he absolutely had to, who wouldn’t give you the time on the clock if he didn’t think there was a good reason for you to know it. Why would he if he was planning Bodie’s exile? 

Cowley had given him proof of trust without him even realising it. Perhaps to keep him loyal at a moment like this.

“Why me, Willis?” He asked, as Doyle had. “Why pick a CI5 agent to frame? You might as well poke a tiger with a stick. Surely you could find some non-denominational thug to stitch up.”

“Stitch up, Bodie? You were caught red-handed.” 

Bodie met his intense gaze, saw the spark of obsession and even madness in his eyes and, belatedly, got it. 

“Cowley is what this is all about. You have to establish Schuman, sure, but shutting down CI5 is what that stone cold heart of yours really wants, isn’t it?

“So let’s see,” he went on. “How does this work? I say Cowley ordered me to assassinate the Head of the East German secret service, and that’s the end of CI5. With Cowley out of the picture there’s nobody to stand in the way of your nasty little schemes. You can take a bite out of UK security and with a bit of luck, and a tame Home Secretary, you can maybe get your hands on MI5 as well. And then what? Tomorrow the world?” 

“What do you care, Bodie?” Willis snarled. “There was a time when you wouldn’t put your boots on, let alone fire a weapon, without payment in advance and you didn’t care who was paying or where the money came from. Are you really so different now?”

“Yeah, I am and you know what, I’m not handing you CI5 on a plate. I don’t care if Cowley thinks I’m the Fifth Man.”

Willis’ had learnt his lessons in ruthlessness in his years running spies for the East Berlin network, and working his way up the MI6 ladder. Bodie’s life had taught him equally harsh lessons but he liked to think his humanity had survived in tact. Perhaps Willis had no one to save him.

“Let’s not pretend there’s a choice in this,” Willis said. “You do what I ask and I won’t kill you.”

“You’ll have to do better than that, sunbeam.”

Willis looked up sharply. “What about your partner? Are you so careless of his life?”

“Who? Ray Doyle? What about him?”

“He shot one of my men and he’s suspected of tampering with evidence, so we’ve taken him in.”

It could have been a bluff. Only he felt that tug; the burn of the second ID card, next to his in his pocket.

“Arrested him, have you? Handed him over to the Met? He’s been charged, got a brief, receiving medical attention? You’ve not just kidnapped a serving CI5 agent off the street.” 

Willis seemed unperturbed by Bodie’s suggestion he had gone too far.

“Bodie, I’m not playing here. Believe me. We have him. It’s up to you what happens to him.” Willis glanced down at the blood on the table. “But you probably need to be quick.”

“Do you really think you can blackmail me with Doyle’s life? Sorry, he accepts the risks the same as I do.” 

“Of course, but you’ve always known your fate. You’ve always lived too recklessly, too amorally to expect to see out your thirties. He’s different, isn’t he? All he’s ever done is his duty. I don’t believe your indifference for a moment, because you know he’s a better man than you”

Was Willis psychic now?

“You’re right about one thing. I am a bastard, an even bigger one than you, and you can stick him out with the rubbish for all I care.” 

Willis got to his feet, concluding the interview.

“There’s no future for you with CI5, but if you cooperate with me you’ll get out alive and you can name your price. Don’t and you’re finished. You and your friend. He deserves better, even if you don’t. I’ll leave you to think about it.” 

~~~

Willis left, and Bodie was taken downstairs to the building’s basement. Removing the handcuffs, the two men escorting him locked him into what looked like a large store room but with a heavy steel door. The room was empty except for the other prisoner.

“Bloody hell, Ray.”

Willis hadn’t been bluffing. Doyle was here. He was sitting on the floor, slumped against the wall and, judging by the state of him, he hadn’t come quietly.

“Oh, great,” Doyle said. “Perfect.”

Bodie went to him and gently straightened him out. He looked as though he had taken a kicking and even the slightest movement seemed to cause him pain. Bodie wondered if he’d cracked a rib or two, but worse than that, the bullet wound was still slowly bleeding. His shirt had turned from blue to wine coloured in the last few hours. His fever had worsened as well, which meant the infection had taken hold. 

“I don’t appreciate being ditched,” said Doyle, his voice reduced to a rasp as he recovered from a fit of coughing.

“You were supposed to disappear.”

“I tried, mate. They were waiting for me outside Jax’s flat. Did you find Marikka?”

“Yeah. She’s on her way back to East Germany, courtesy Willis.”

“The bastard. They’ll kill her.”

“Did Willis say anything to you?” Bodie asked.

“He was on about the evidence.”

“I thought he was supposed to have given up on that.”

“No chance. And you can forget about that ‘no trial’ business.”

“He’s a persistent bugger. But it’s CI5 he wants.”

Doyle stared at him. “That’s why it had to be you. That’s why you have to sign saying you were following Cowley’s orders. We should have spotted that one under our noses.”

“I’ve got a good mind to sign it too. Where the hell is the old bastard? Leaving us hanging out to dry, like this.”

As he spoke he took off his own jacket and shirt. He wore a T-shirt underneath and he peeled that off too. Tearing it into strips, he eased off Doyle’s jacket and then opened his shirt. The bandage was soaked with blood but he didn’t dare touch it. He compressed the wound as best he could with the makeshift dressing over the old hospital one. It wasn’t enough.

He rebuttoned Doyle’s shirt and got him back into his jacket. He lay down on the cold floor and Bodie slipped his own jacket under his head as a pillow.

He shrugged his shirt back on and then went to the door. He banged repeatedly on it, shouting for a doctor. Eventually Doyle told him to give it a rest, but no one else took any notice; there was a good chance no one heard in this big, empty building.

He covered the room, looking for a way out, implements to use as weapons or to aid an escape, and any means of communication. He couldn’t find anything, so he went back to Doyle and sat down on the floor with him, putting his hand in his fever damp hair. He felt the answering press of Doyle’s forehead against his palm.

“Willis thinks he can use you to get me to sign the confession,” Bodie said.

“I know. But we’re both here to do a job, so that’s not going to work, is it?”

“If we’ve still got a job.”

“Well I’m going to assume I’m bleeding to death on the clock, so don’t even think about it.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s yeah for?” 

“If we don’t cooperate, I don’t think they’re going to let either of us out to tell the tale.”

“You’re a ray of sodding sunshine, aren’t you?”

Time passed and the light from the narrow skylights began to fade, leaving the room in darkness. Bodie’s hand rested on the burning skin of Doyle’s neck, and the only sound was his partner’s fractured breathing.

“Willis thinks you’re too good for me,” he said at last.

“I’ve been telling you that for years.” And then after some minutes passed. “Willis is a lunatic, you know that, don’t you?”

It was almost dawn when they heard the sound of the door unlocking. Doyle pulled himself up into a sitting position and Bodie got to his feet. The room flooded with light as Willis came in. Ronson and two of the other agents were with him, along with Green, who had his arm in a sling.

“Are you ready to cooperate?” Willis asked.

“Let Doyle go,” Bodie said.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Send him back to CI5 and I’ll talk to you.”

“Are we really going to do this dance? You’re in no position to negotiate.”

“Did you just ask me to dance?”

Willis nodded to the agent standing nearest to Doyle. He took out his gun and pointed it down at Ray’s head. It was a foolhardy move. Doyle’s good arm whipped out and grabbed his wrist. A second later, the man was lying on the floor trying to work out the chain of events. 

Bodie couldn’t enjoy the moment because, as he watched, Doyle slumped back, his eyes closing. Bodie started to react but two men grabbed his arms and held him back.

“So you don’t want me to put him out with the rubbish?” Willis said. “I didn’t think so.”

“Get an ambulance, you stupid bastards,” Bodie yelled.

“Work with me,” Willis replied. “And I’ll bring a medic here.”

Bodie couldn’t tell if Doyle was still alive and he stopped thinking. “I’ll do it.”

“What did you say?”

“I’ll sign whatever you want. Get him some help.”

Willis’ interrogator’s eye examined, assessed and dismissed him. “You’re a liar, Bodie,” he said.

“I’m not, I swear.” He struggled against the arms holding him.

“Cowley’s best men.” Willis mused. “And there’s something else, isn’t there? Something more than a team. Maybe you haven’t worked it out yourself yet, maybe you have. But I’m willing to wager, it’s more than a colleague you’d lose if I killed him right now.”

He approached Doyle, crouching down in front of him. Doyle was startled awake by Green and Ronson grabbing his arms to restrain him. Bodie’s relief at seeing him still alive disappeared as Willis put his gun to his head. After a moment Willis moved the gun down and pushed the barrel into Doyle’s mouth.

“Does he like that, Bodie? I think he does.”

“If you believe all that, how’s it going to help if you kill him? How’s that going to make me cooperate?” 

“If I let him go, what have I got to bargain with?”

“If you don’t, you can fuck off with your statement.”

The safety on the gun clicked.

“Oh Jesus. Work it out Willis. Think about it. You’ve lost. CI5’s not going anywhere.”

“His last chance...”

“You can kill me. No one’s interested, I’m nothing but a traitor. But Cowley’s not going to let you get away with murdering Doyle.

“You went wrong when you took him. That’s when your plan failed. But you’ll come up with a better one, clever little Firebird like you. Forget this before it goes too far.”

Willis was not even listening and it was Green, not Bodie, who stopped him.

“Not here, boss. Don’t do it here.”

Something snapped back into place in Willis’ brain, Bodie could almost hear it. He slid the gun from Doyle's mouth and stepped away from him.

“You’ve made a big mistake,” Willis said.

“Just let Ray go.”

“Be realistic. How can I do that?” He gave a silent command to Green.

Doyle was dragged to his feet. His arms were pulled back for handcuffing and his gasp of pain made everyone wince. Bodie didn’t think Ray would be able to handle much more of this kind of treatment.

Though that didn’t look like it was going to be an issue for much longer.

Bodie was cuffed as well and they were hustled from the cell. There did not seem to be anyone else about now. Just one car was left outside, parked with the van that had brought him. The four men remaining must be Willis’ most trusted. He wouldn’t want too many witnesses to this part.

They were put into the back of the van, Doyle slumped against the side, conscious but trying to catch his breath. When the door slammed shut and they started moving, they exchanged a surprised glance at having been left unguarded.

“Bodie,” Doyle hissed at him.

Bodie shook his head. He might be able to kick out the door at the next light and get himself out, which was what Doyle was telling him to do. If he was lucky, he would be able to get far enough away to avoid an MI6 bullet. But handcuffed he wouldn’t be able to help Doyle, and Doyle would not make it on his own. He already knew he wouldn’t be able to leave him.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Doyle said. “You know where we’re going, don’t you – “

“Leave it, Ray.”

The journey lasted for about half an hour and, when they were taken out of the van, they found themselves by the river in an area of disused warehouses and docks.

The moon still moved behind darkening clouds, bathing the sprawl of cracked concrete and rusting scrap iron in an eerie light. Bodie knew an execution site when he saw one.

“Now look,” he said, his breath visible in the sharp morning air. “You’ve made your point. Just let us go. Give us a head start and we’ll be out of the country in twenty four hours.”

No one paid any attention, and they were pushed forward to stand by the waterside. Ronson and two of the other agents took out their guns. Green and Willis, who had driven up in Willis’ car, looked on.

Doyle was struggling to keep upright and Bodie edged closer to him. “Last one in the water’s a rotten egg,” he whispered.

“That’s very funny,” Doyle replied, steadying himself against Bodie’s arm.

“Sorry, mate,”

“What for?”

“For getting you in to this.”

“Do you still think it’s your fault? I knew you were slow.”

Their fingers behind their backs curled together as the three men approached.

“Ey up,” Doyle said. “I don’t think we’re getting a last request.”

“I know. Bunch of amateurs.”

They were turned round and pushed down onto their knees. Bodie felt the barrel of a gun on the back of his neck. He steeled himself against his rising fear, readied himself for the inevitable bullet.

Suddenly, the air filled with the sound of car engines and police sirens. Brakes and tyres screeched and the MI6 men started running. Bodie shoved Doyle with his shoulder, bringing them both to the ground before the shooting started.

When the shooting stopped, Doyle wasn’t moving.

Cowley.

Cowley loomed over them like the angel of death. He was shouting for keys and ambulances but otherwise defying explanation. Doyle was freed from his handcuffs first and as soon as Bodie was out of his, he joined a small crowd that had gathered around the unconscious or dead man. All CI5 agents, he took a moment to note. Vic was there, kneeling over Doyle, checking for a pulse.

“Alive,” he said. Doyle’s eyes eventually opened, finding Bodie in the crowd. “All right,” Vic said to the others. “Piss off out of it, give him some air. Want to get up, Ray?”

Vic helped Doyle up and found somewhere for him to sit. One of the others brought a blanket to drape over his shoulders while they waited for the ambulance.

Bodie waited with him, taking in the scene. CI5 were running the show with the help of a bunch of woodentops. Willis and two other MI6 men were put into police cars. Green had been wounded again and Ronson was dead.

When Cowley stopped shouting orders, he came over. He looked ready for an argument.

“How did you find us?” Bodie asked.

“We’ve someone inside MI6.”

Betty.

Cowley put his hand on Doyle’s head, as if he were comforting a child. “All right laddie, we’ll soon have you sorted out.” Doyle looked alarmed.

“Look at the state of him,” Bodie spat. “I understand you cutting me out, but why him?”

“Events took their course,” Cowley said. “Unfortunately Doyle, you weren’t my first priority.”

“No,” Doyle said. “I’m just glad I was someone’s.”

“What events?” Bodie asked.

“Events which led to the accrual of sufficient evidence to remove Willis’ poison from MI6. A long-term objective successfully accomplished.”

Bodie reeled at this news. So this was nothing to do with him being a spy or an assassin. This was one of Cowley’s elephant traps, one of his long plans.

“You fucking, devious bastard.”

“I’ll ignore the profanity on this occasion, Bodie. The minister has authorised Willis’ arrest. We now have direct evidence of his tactics in respect of yourself, Doyle and Mrs Schuman. Who, by the way, we have under our protection.”

“You told Willis where we were hiding out.”

“Necessary I’m afraid if the case were to be conclusive.”

“You left a wounded man out in the field. Doyle could have been killed.”

“I understand you did the same, when you thought it expedient.”

“You didn’t give me a choice. You shut down every place where he might have been safe.”

“CI5’s security had been breached and –“

“No. You made a decision to keep the new locations from me.”

“Again, necessary to persuade Willis you were no longer associated with CI5, that you had lost its support.”

“We had lost its support.”

“Aye, you had. But if you had turned up at Mrs Schuman’s safe house mob-handed with a dozen CI5 men we would never have been able to draw Willis out as we did.”

“And how did you know we would follow the script? What made you so sure we wouldn’t sell out CI5 and take the money?”

“That’s why it had to be you two, Bodie. That’s why it had to be you.”

“So the East Germans, Marikka –“

“The opportunity I had been waiting for. I was able to assist events taking their course by allowing Willis to discover the connection between yourself and Mrs Schuman. He was only too willing to take the bait. He’s been working against me for some time.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“There you are Bodie,” Doyle said. “I said you could trust him.” He breathed out a painful laugh. “I expect you’ll be wanting Bodie to make a statement, sir.”

“Won’t be possible, I’m leaving the country,” Bodie said. “As far as I’m concerned I’m a civilian. I think you’ve made that clear.”

Cowley regarded him sympathetically. “Perhaps an explanation is in order. Be in my office first thing tomorrow.”

“Yeah well,” Bodie said, bitterly. “I don’t know where your office is, do I?” 

Cowley began to walk away. “That shouldn’t present a challenge to an investigator of your calibre.”

~~~

Bodie was sitting by Doyle’s empty hospital bed, eating his way through a packet of digestives when Doyle came back into the room.

“Oh yes, and where the bloody hell have you been?” Doyle demanded. He was wearing a dressing gown and drying his newly washed hair with a hospital towel.

“Morning sunshine,” Bodie said, beaming.

“Don’t you sunshine me. Leaving me here to fend for meself. I could have been on death’s door, for all you cared.” 

“I was keeping track of you.” Bodie protested, all wounded innocence. “I phoned, I sent messages.”

“Cheers mate, there’s nothing like the personal touch. Every buggers been here except my own partner. Vic came every day, life and soul that he is. Even Cowley. I had a fortnight of Chuckles, moaning about you disappearing off the face of the earth.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Great, I’m being discharged today. I’m fine now, I don’t need you now.”

“That’s nice, isn’t it. I brought you clothes. I’m here to take you home.”

Doyle peered into the bags Bodie had left on the bed for him.

“Well don’t go to any trouble.” But he smiled, a warm wide smile. It was good to see him some colour other than grey. “Anyway, you needn’t have bothered, Jax is coming.”

“No he isn’t, he thinks you’re coming out tomorrow.”

“Why does he -? Oh I see, you’ve been busy.” Bodie looked pleased with himself. “So, go on then, where have you been?”

“Keeping out of the way.”

“Yeah, I’d worked that much out. Why?”

Bodie shrugged. “See how Cowley likes it. Give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“He doesn’t like it. He was very clear about that.”

“Good.”

“So, that’s it?”

“I had some things to figure out.” 

“And have you?”

“Yes.” 

“I thought you might have gone for good,” Doyle said evenly.

He’d come close, that first angry day. He’d gone to his flat before they’d even thought of watching it, grabbed his passport and packed a bag. 

“Are you fit, then? Ready to go?”

Doyle looked at him critically and then nodded. “Yep. Just got to get my prescription.” He opened one of the bags. “New clothes? Why didn’t you go to my flat?”

“They’re watching it, and mine and Kennington.”

“Who are. Not Six?”

“No, our lot. They’re looking for me.”

“Blimey, we must be short on international terrorists.”

“There’s not much of a case against Willis without me.” Bodie nodded at the bags. “They’re all right, aren’t they? I know you normally get your clothes out of a skip but I thought these would work.”

Doyle tipped the jeans, shirt and underwear on to the bed. “Sure.” He took out a dark blue denim jacket from the second bag. Bodie was not going to admit how long it had taken him to choose it. Ever. “I like this. I’ll pay you back for this lot.”

“Steady son, you’ll do yourself another mischief.”

He watched Doyle dressing, wary of his bandaged arm but with something of his old whipcord energy returned.

“Here, catch.” He threw him his CI5 ID card. Doyle smiled when he realised what it was.

“I wondered what had happened to this. Have you still got yours?”

Bodie shrugged again.

Prescription filled, they walked out into the car park.

“New car?” Doyle asked.

“ish.”

“So, where are we going?” 

“Your flat. Well I’ll boot you out within a reasonable distance and you can walk the rest of the way.”

“Nope.”

“No? Where do you want to go then? The zoo?”

“Yeah, if that’s where you’ve been staying and I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I was going to show you where I’ve been staying,” Bodie said. “But I thought you’d want to rest for a couple of days first.”

“If you won’t go to my flat, I don’t want to go there either.”

That simple.

Bodie started the car and negotiated them out of the hospital gates. Doing a couple of circuits to check for tails, he headed south.

“I’ve got us a new safe house.”

“Where?”

“Elephant. Cowley doesn’t know about it. And he won’t.”

Doyle looked at him sharply. “Are you sure you want me to know where it is?”

“Fair question. Sometimes I go looking for reasons not to trust people.”

“Understandable when I was wearing a wire and following you around.”

“Forget about that, I already said.”

He turned off the main road into a maze of residential streets that had so far escaped the drive to concrete over the entire postcode. He stopped the car outside a Victorian double-fronted terraced house.

“Studio flat in the attic,” he said as he led Doyle up the lino-covered stairs. “Its even smaller than the other one, but it comes with it’s own garage, out the back.”

He watched Doyle taking it all in. A small room but filled with light from a large skylight. The kitchen units and appliances were built into one corner, the bed was against the opposite wall. There were a couple of armchairs around a gas heater and a small round table with two chairs.

“Is that new paint?” Doyle asked. “Is this what you’ve been doing instead of –?”

“- coming to see you, yes. No reason why it should be a hovel.”

The room had been lined with loudly colourful wallpaper stained with nicotine and, with nothing to do except avoid Cowley, he got pots of ivory coloured paint and obliterated the paper in a couple of coats. Spurred on, he had cleaned the windows, scrubbed the ill-used kitchen and bathroom with military thoroughness and got a couple of rugs to cover the dingy carpet. The furniture and furnishings were a reminder of its fading rental status but these could be put right in time.

“This is a step up for us,” Doyle said. “Mind if I stay then, for a couple of days.”

Bodie tossed the keys to him. “It’s yours as much as mine.”

Doyle looked at the keys in his hand and then turned to Bodie, giving him the same all encompassing inspection he had just given the room. “So what does this mean? I got the impression you were chucking in the job?”

His anger had not dampened down, he did not appreciate playing a key part in an operation nobody bothered to tell him about. Did not accept that it was okay to leave a wounded agent out in the field.

He had sat in his car in the airport car park for an hour on that first day, and then checked out the flights to Argentina. If it hadn’t been for -. Well, he hadn’t gone. Something kept him here. Someone.

There was only one cord keeping him attached to the surface of this strange moon. Only one cord but it was unbreakable 

“I haven’t spent all these years keeping you alive to let you wander off on your own.”

Doyle grinned. “Right then.”

“If you’re staying I’ll get some food in.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And I’ll phone Cowley. Not that he deserves it.”

“Reverse the charges, that’ll be punishment enough.”

Cowley had been pleased to hear from him. He could tell by the extreme sarcasm. He had, in the end, been glad to talk to the old man too.

When he came back to the flat, he found Doyle had gone to bed. He was sleeping with his uninjured arm thrown carelessly back across the pillow, a tangle of hair framing his face. Preoccupied by a dream his brow furrowed, his lips turned downward. He was, as ever, ridiculously appealing.

Bodie quietly put away the shopping and sat watching him for a while from the edge of the bed. He had time now. Time to piece things together. He wondered if he and Ray had, with the unwanted help of Reg Willis, finally figured things out.

He undressed down to his underwear and got into the bed. Hesitating for a moment, he turned on to his side and reached an arm around Doyle.

Doyle woke slowly. Without opening his eyes, he gathered Bodie in. Bodie felt the brush of a kiss, and a sleepy laugh as warm breath through his hair.

 

End


End file.
